


Collision

by constellationqueen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Model Sebastian, Tattoos, tatoo kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationqueen/pseuds/constellationqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is a freelance photographer working on a tattoo portfolio. Sebastian is a model with a tattoo. Seems pretty perfect, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision

**Author's Note:**

> This was written entirely for [sinnermoriarty](http://sinnermoriarty.tumblr.com/), who prompted me to write something based off of [this post](http://johnsconsultingboyfriend.tumblr.com/post/102432003405/mormor-photographer-au-where-jim-is-the). Here you go, Ankita. This one's for you ^_^
> 
> [barumonster](http://barumonster.tumblr.com/) drew this super amazing Sebastian that fit in so well with this story that I had to ask to link it. You can find it [here](http://barumonster.tumblr.com/post/98089649181).

_I see everything through the eye of the lens_  
_Because it is the only eye that sees the truth.  
_ - _Anonymous_

* * *

 

To say that Jim was exhausted was somehow simultaneously a vast understatement and a ridiculous overstatement.

His energy was at an all time low, thanks to the hours that he had logged today behind the camera. He was so sick of looking at the grey scale backdrops, the corner with the window, the small bed, the couch, the armchair, the stool, the floor… he was just so numb from his surroundings that he would have gladly set them on fire if he had access to either a match or a lighter.

At the same time, though, he was sporting a stupid grin and walking like the Earth’s gravity field had suddenly given out, because this was what he loved, and this had been the best shoot of his career.

An art magazine had put out word that they were looking for tattoo portfolios. Guaranteed payment for submitting the images, and more payment if they chose Jim’s to be the ones used in the magazine. Jim didn’t really fucking care whether they used his images. Right now, he was pretty low on cash, and anything was better than nothing.

That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t going to labour away at getting the right shots.

He’d been at it since five that morning. It took him an hour to set everything up in the run down flat that he used as a studio – and his place of living. But he had to make it look like he was actually, well, professional, so anything personal that was his in the flat had to be hidden unless it was being used for props. He used a curtain to block of the kitchen and the bathroom from view, keeping the studio in the living room area of the studio flat.

His first model had arrived at six thirty.

He had hand picked all of his models himself from the hundred or so emails received from interested parties. After a lot of thought, he had narrowed it down to six. Four men and two women. The youngest was eighteen, and the oldest was fifty.

Jim had wanted diversity in the people, but similarities in the tattoos. The ink had to be intricate in design, no matter what it was. It had to give an emotion, had to make someone looking at it step back and think of something else.

The people only had two things in common. They were all achingly attractive for their age, and they all had to have some sort of major blemish. The young girl, for instance, had a large birthmark that stretched from her jaw to the bridge of her nose. One of the men had lost his hand in an on-the-job accident.

There was power in what he did, in shaping these people and the art they had put on their bodies. He had the power to make viewers see what he wanted, and what he wanted was vulnerability.

It was well into the evening now – had to be at least seven – and he was finally done. He had exhausted his creative vision after taking so many shots of so many positions of the models. He was glad that he was home, because he doubted he would have been able to easily make it to a cab and then back to his place.

He had just stripped the bed of the black sheets used for the shoot and had put on clean white ones when there was a knock at the door.

Jim stiffened, checked his watch, and then let out a loud sigh. At this hour, it had to be the landlord. At this time of the month, he had to be expecting the measly rent. Jim didn’t have it, and if there hadn’t been a second, more insistent set of knocks, he would have let it go.

“What?” he snarled, yanking the door open.

He was met with six and a half feet of solid, lean, well-sculpted muscle carved into a tight burgundy t-shirt and skinny jeans. Part of a wild tattoo slid out from under the sleeve of the shirt and proceeded down to this man’s elbow. Jim followed the line of that beautiful arm up to the curve of broad shoulders, the slope of a corded neck, a square jaw dusted with stubble, and finally to blue eyes accentuated by two scars and blond hair, cropped on the sides and long at the top, hanging over his forehead and into his eyes.

Jim’s lips were dry, so he licked him, realising as he did so that he was staring right at the other man’s plush mouth. He blushed a great shade of embarrassment, ducking his head down and clearing his throat before he braved himself to look back up.

“Are you lost?” he asked, not knowing what this hot piece of ass was doing at his door, and not sure if he should be thanking some higher power or cursing it. He was definitely going to be falling asleep with this man on his mind tonight, regardless.

The young man frowned, looking down at the scrap of paper in his hand and then at the number on the door over Jim’s shoulder. “Nope, I’ve got it right. I’m here for the photography thing?” he said in a voice that pitched low and then scattered like stars in a constellation around Jim.

Jim’s stomach fluttered, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry, but there was an email that you were supposed to send pictures to –”

“Oh, honey, I don’t do auditions,” the man cut in, stuffing his hands into the pockets of those finely made jeans. There was absolutely no way that this man was not made of money.

So what was he doing here? Jim had paid his models, sure, but not very much. Certainly not what this man could be earning with a body like that.

“Well, fine, but I already packed away my gear, and, even if I felt like hauling it back out, I don’t have anymore money to pay my models so –”

“Well you’re in luck then, aren’t you, because I’m patient and I don’t need any money for this.”

With that said, the man shouldered past Jim and into the studio flat.

Heaving out a great sigh that said very well how annoyed he was, Jim shut the door and went around setting things up again.

“Why are you here?” he asked, huffy because he was tired, and he already had the shots he wanted for his portfolio. He didn’t need this random person to come barging in, all larger than life. Jim didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“I told you already. For the photo shoot.”

Jim growled in irritation, snapping out the legs on his tripod a little too harshly. “Don’t be obtuse. Why are you _still_ here? You didn’t fill out any information; I know nothing about you. You don’t need the money and it’s obvious that I’m done for the day. Why push your way inside? Why insist? I could call the cops, you know. You’re trespassing.” He forced himself to stop talking with a lot of effort, knowing that he was rambling, and he only rambled when he was nervous.

A low chuckle rose from where the sofa was set up, and he lifted his eyes to look.

What he found was a shirtless version of the man that had pushed his way inside of Jim’s dingy flat, sprawled out on the sofa like he lived there.

Jim narrowed his eyes, fighting down his attraction and forcing his blood to boil. “What are you doing?”

The man shrugged. “I told you. I want to model for you. It would be stupid of you not to let me.” There was that stupid grin, eating away at his face and making him look like a man in control.

Jim had to swallow and think of something revolting to keep his body from reacting positively.

“Besides,” he kept talking, tossing his shirt aside and pushing to his feet with all the grace of a wild cat, “my shirt has to be off for you to see it,” he said, walking close enough that Jim could see the scars that ran down his otherwise perfect body.

Jim’s mouth watered, and his eyes roamed over sculpted muscle, not realising that his feet were moving until he was suddenly conscious of the body rotating in front of him. He forced himself to follow that tattoo from its start at the elbow, up to the shoulder, and then, blooming, over the left half of the man’s back. A white tiger prowling through a dense jungle, snarling at something that wasn’t tattooed on the other side of the man’s back.

Jim gaped, stared, reached out to touch but pulled his hand back just in time. He swallowed thickly, a slow grin rising in his eyes. “Go sit on the stool. I need to set up a small flash,” he said, wanting another light source by the window since it was too dark to get any actual light through.

He pushed the sound and distraction of this mysterious hot stranger out of his mind, running around setting everything up, eventually going back for his camera and putting in a new SD card. He spun around, about to call out directions, but his breath fell from his lungs in a heavy breath.

_Oh. My. God._

There was no way that this man wasn’t an actual model, because the way he was sitting – legs parted, boots and socks off, one arm between his legs and the other angled above his head, hand through his hair, shoulders bowed forward with his spine arched delicately – screamed experience and knowledge of his body and how it worked.

“Um…”

“Sebastian.”

Jim blinked. “What?”

Those blue eyes turned around and pinned him with such a humorous look over that sculpted shoulder that Jim involuntarily snapped a picture.

“That’s my name, sweetheart,” the man – Sebastian – chuckled. “Did you need something?” he asked, the harshness and abrasive nature from before fading into something softer.

Jim’s heart fluttered at being called ‘sweetheart,’ and he was rendered, yet again, speechless by this god of a man. He didn’t know why he was feeling like this. Everyone he had admitted feelings to in the past had denied him. The last had been that arse of a kid Carl Powers, and Jim had ruined his career as a result.

Bittered by the negative thoughts, Jim shook his head and closed his eyes. “No. Just… make that pose again. You’re allowed to move, too,” he added, clearing his throat as he went back to his duties as the photographer.

Sebastian gave Jim an odd look, but he eventually just shrugged and went back to posing.

Jim walked around his new subject, sometimes focusing on the tattoo, other times focusing on Sebastian. At one point, Sebastian stood up, stretched his back, and walked over to the sofa, sprawling over it, then perching on the armrest, the back, the went to the chair and did the same, except with more of a _come hither_ look in his eyes, and Jim found himself fawning over the man once more.

Swallowing, Jim let the camera hang from the strap around his neck, scrubbing his hand down his face. They’d already been at this for over an hour, and normally Jim would call it quits now.

“Would you…” he started, watching Sebastian push slowly to his feet, looking down at him with a smirk that let Jim know exactly what his answer would be. “Take off the rest of your clothes. We’re going to do some intimate shots on the bed,” he said, lifting his chin as if daring Sebastian to laugh.

Sebastian didn’t. He just met Jim’s gaze and held it, then stripped out of his jeans and pants, dropping them off to the side.

Jim fought to maintain eye contact. He didn’t look, didn’t look, didn’t look, and then he did, briefly, and –

 _Holy shit_.

And there was that chuckle, and then Sebastian was turning, walking over to the bed. “How do you want me?” he asked suggestively as he pulled back the covers – Jim’s covers – and crawled naked onto the bed.

Jim had to pick his jaw up off the floor before he finally just walked forward. He averted his gaze as much as possible, directing Sebastian onto the corner of the bed. He messed up the covers, making it look like early morning after a very productive night. He stacked the pillows in front of Sebastian, giving him the opportunity for some front shots as well without making it _too_ intimate.

“Embarrassed?” Sebastian asked, his lips quirked up in a tantalising smile.

“Distracted,” Jim countered, realising too late that the retort wasn’t much better. “Just – just pose or something,” he snapped, moving away and quickly taking pictures, directing Sebastian to move his arms or to look over his shoulder or to turn his shoulders a little or _smile, you arse, you can’t look like a sex god in all of these_ which proceeded to make Sebastian laugh, bringing small crinkles to the corners of his eyes, and Jim ate it up with every click of the shutter.

Jim only stopped when he finally ran out of room on the SD card, and he let out a long breath, taking the strap from his neck and setting the camera safely in its bag. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling his scalp as slightly sticky with sweat.

There was a sudden tugging sensation on the back pockets of his jeans, and he was gently pulled backwards until he collided with the supernova that was Sebastian.

Jim stiffened, not daring to turn around. It was very, very evident that Sebastian was still naked, and Jim didn’t know if his heart could stand looking just then. Best to avert his eyes from the explosion and brace for impact.

All he got was a sultry purr of, “I’m thinking coffee. Or maybe dinner. Are you available anytime soon?”

Jim’s heart was in his throat, and those deft fingers were still in his pockets, slowly caressing his arse through denim.

He turned around, grabbing Sebastian’s wrists and holding them steady, away from his hips as he looked up and met the gravitation of Sebastian’s gaze.

“I’m free right now.”

Nebulas exploded behind Sebastian’s black hole gaze, and that devilish grin pulled all of the air from Jim’s chest.

A growl hit his ears only nanoseconds before there were rough lips against his own, and there was a taste of tongue and a bite of teeth, and Jim was colliding with Sebastian, dancing with him as they struggled to rip off his clothes while they made their way to the bed that seemed thousands of light years away.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Sebastian growled, moving his lips down Jim’s neck to bite and suck dark bruising marks over pale flesh, dotting it with blooms or red and black and purple, painting bits of galaxies that Jim would be able to study for days after.

Jim gasped and arched into Sebastian, his nails digging into his shoulders and his eyes blowing wide as he felt skin break. “Fuck!” he shouted, his knees going weak. Sebastian just picked him up and pressed him into the mattress, moving down his throat to his newly exposed chest.

Jim’s jeans were gone and, yes, so were his pants. They were both evenly naked, and _shit_ , he needed more.

“Lube?” Sebastian growled, suddenly pulling Jim from where his mind had drifted and slamming him back in reality. Sebastian was kissing and licking and nipping at Jim’s stomach, and Jim was writhing in pleasure at the intimate attention.

He gasped, choking on air and whispers, and he just barely managed to gesture to the tiny table beside the bed that had one drawer and very few things in it.

“Are you going to get it? Or are you just going to lie there?”

Jim whined, not wanting to have to move, not wanting to be without Sebastian’s mouth on him, without his tongue dipping into his naval and sending perfect shivers through him.

He complied, though, and rolled over so that he could reach into the drawer.

Sebastian was on him in an instant, spreading his cheeks and licking a stripe up the cleft of his arse that had Jim keening for more in under a second.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, dropping his head down. “Do that again,” he quickly demanded, his hand clamped around the bottle of lube. “Come on, you started it. May as well finish it.”

A low chuckle rose from Sebastian, but the man listened, pressing forward and licking over Jim’s hole again and again, reducing him to a puddle long before he even nudged his tongue past that tight ring of muscle. Jim moaned, rocking back into Sebastian’s large hands, which started massaging his cheeks almost immediately.

“There, good, good,” Jim gasped, tossing the bottle back at Sebastian, who must have caught it, because Jim never felt it hit the bed. “Come on,” he groaned, wriggling his hips when he felt Sebastian pull back.

Seconds later, a cold slick finger was pushing inside of him, and yes, _yes,_ that was perfect. He whined softly, grinning when Sebastian rubbed his prostate and added a second finger, slowly stretching him open.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jim,” Sebastian whispered, biting at Jim’s arse and kissing over the small of his back.

Jim blushed, arching his spine down, pushing his arse in the air. “Come on, Sebby. Fuck me already,” he groaned, reaching down to stroke his cock a few times.

Sebastian took his fingers away at that, and Jim could hear him chuckling. Jim rolled over, spreading his legs wide and grinning up at Sebastian. “Come on, I can take it,” he said, planting his feet and lifting up his hips.

Sebastian growled and leaned over Jim, bearing down on him and reaching between them to tease his fingers along Jim’s cock. “You are such a demanding little fuck, aren’t you?” he hissed, nipping at Jim’s neck and nudging the head of his cock against Jim’s hole.

Jim moaned, wrapping his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders and holding onto him tightly. “Yes, I am, now fucking _do_ something,” he commanded, and was rewarded with a hard smack to the back of his thigh and a quick bit of pain as Sebastian pushed into him. _“Yes,_ fuck!” he yelled, cursing in Gallic as he arched up and pushed his hips back against Sebastian’s.

It was hard and fast and rough, and there were breathless kisses and scrapes of teeth. Jim dug his nails into flesh deep enough to draw blood and scraped them across Sebastian’s shoulders. “Payback for the bite,” he gasped, flipping them over and pressing his palms to Sebastian’s chest as he rode him hard with Seb’s hands on Jim’s hips.

“Fuck, Seb,” Jim gasped, pushing back and keening when his prostate was perfectly hit.

Sebastian laughed, his gripp tightening on Jim’s hips to a bruising level. “You close, baby?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You’re awful flushed.” His grinned turned into the dangerous flash of an exploding star, and he pushed his hips up, throwing Jim off-balance for a moment.

And then Jim was gasping, moaning, swearing, breathless from the quick sharp thrusts that Sebastian was using to pound into him.

“That’s it. So good. Come on, baby,” Seb encouraged, and almost instantly Jim was coming, crying out and shaking. Sebastian flipped them back over, fucking Jim into the mattress until he came a few moments later.

Jim let out a slow breath, content and floating as Sebastian finished and collapsed down beside him.

Later, they would wake up from a very long sleep, and Jim would grab his laptop and sit down on the bed while he scrolled through pictures of Sebastian, idly tracing Seb’s tattoo and affectionately calling him Tiger while the morning passed by in a slow haze. Sebastian would offer to take Jim out to lunch, and Jim would find out just how loaded he was. They would spend the rest of the day and the evening at Sebastian’s place, snogging on the sofa and fucking in the kitchen.

But for now, Jim just rolled over and snuggled up to the galaxy of a man beside him, humming praise and soft words before getting gathered into Sebastian’s arms and held close as they both fell asleep.


End file.
